


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2018 [1]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Larry pops the question
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Series: Advent Fics 2018 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824643
Kudos: 10





	Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Above the indistinct skyline of the LA suburbs, the sky flushes deep pink. What few clouds have managed to survive the summer heat are stained purple and mauve, like dead islands on a phosphorescent sea. Perched on the hood of Larry’s car, Freddy lets his eyes glaze over, the excitement of the day catching up to him all at once, washing him out. 

“Watch it.” Larry jerks Freddy’s hand away from his jeans a split second before the taco crumbles to nothing in his hands, saving them both from guac stains. 

Freddy stairs at the remnants of the taco, now a dark, shapeless splat on the tarmac. He’d been enjoying that. Fifth taco of the week and he’s still enjoying them. He never used to like Mexican food. 

With a smirk, Larry digs him in the side, licking the last of the salsa off his thumb. “You want another one?”

“Nah.” Freddy shakes his head. “We should probably get going.”

Which is code for ‘head back to that motel room you’re renting and fuck till we can’t think no more’. Freddy likes that part of the routine best, the not thinking part. If he doesn’t have to think than he doesn’t have to worry that all of this is getting too real, and the dividing line of a fake wedding band isn’t enough to keep him on the straight and narrow. 

_Straight_ and narrow. Harr de fucking harr.

Like a sphinx, Larry jerks his head for Freddy to hop up into the passenger seat. “C’mon.”

The place Larry is staying is far out, beyond the city limits and tucked between cheap residential housing where no one would think to look. As they pull out of the diner parking lot, heading East, the last glorious hellfire from the sun glints in the rear-view mirror. 

Freddy fiddles with the wedding ring, tempted once more to ask what Larry thinks is going on there. Like, hey man, you ever wonder why I let you all up in my ass when I’m walking around like I got a wife holed up some place round here? Don’t you wanna know? Doesn’t it piss you off that you’re the supposed side dish to the main event? 

And then Freddy can dance around the subject, till the questioning reaches breaking point and like all good interogatees he can break down, confess everything. I don’t got a wife, I ain’t got a fucking clue what to do with a woman and I never had a best girl. I’m a fag, Larry, pure bred and frightened and right now I’m pretty sure you’re the only person with a hope in hell of understanding that. 

Of understanding what, exactly? And well, it’s not like Freddy’s about to confess to being a cop on top of all of that shit. 

Larry’s eyes don’t leave the road, he’s a good driver like that, real meticulous. Like with how he spends more time than he needs to scoping out the place they’re gonna rob, like with how he keeps going for five minutes after Freddy comes, just to test out which nerves are particularly sensitive in the aftermath. But his attention shifts, so his eyes are on the road but his head is right in there with Freddy. “I been thinking.”

“Yeah?” Freddy looks up. 

“See, you and I get on real well.” Larry says. His voice is careful, measured and his mouth is a flat line, keeping it real clear that he’s serious. The panther crawling down his right arm ripples and shudders as he takes them over a roundabout. 

It’s Freddy’s turn to smirk. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I ain’t just talking about the sex.” Larry clarifies, quickly. “Like, I like you. You know?”

Freddy’s stomach knots in excitement and trepidation. He’s half way to saying it right back. I like you Larry, like we’re back in high school and you’re the quarterback I used to imagine sucking me off in the changing rooms. “Yeah.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to stick together, once we’re done here. Do a couple of jobs, see how it works out.”

Eating tacos on the hood of Larry’s car every night for all eternity, getting the hell out of dodge, heading down to Mexico and letting the cops eat their dust. Driving off the edge of the Grand Canyon, Thelma and Louise style. Freddy wants all of that, but he also wants to see Holdaway smiling as he takes the stand to send these bastard’s down. 

You don’t get both. You can’t eat your cake and still have it. 

So Freddy looks away, looks at the road in front of him, growing darker by the minute. “You would want that? With me?”

“Shit, kid.” Larry mutters under his breath. “I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything like I want you along with me.”

So here’s the God’s honest truth - Freddy has never been able to view the dating scene as anything more than the pleas people make to persuade people not to leave them. He wants. Being wanted doesn’t feel real. It’s alarming and it’s wonderful and right fucking then it’s all he’s ever wanted. 

Fuck the LAPD. All Cops Are Bastard’s, for one night only. It’s easier this way, comforting. He is wanted, Larry wants him. He and Larry are gonna shoot up half the country in search of fame and fortune and America ain’t fucking ready for them. 

He smiles, laughing despite himself. “Yeah, man. Yeah. I’d love to.”

“Yeah?” The corner’s of Larry’s mouth twitch upwards, eyes shining at the road. 

“Yeah. God, man. Just-” Freddy catches himself, breathes deep. “I think I’d been waiting for you to ask.”

True, though he didn’t realise till five fucking minutes ago. He’s been sitting by the phone, waiting for news from Holdaway or Nice Guy Eddie but the news he really needed was that Larry was as fucked up over him as he is over Larry. 

Larry’s hand shoots out from the steering wheel despite itself, squeezing Freddy’s knee. “I got a little something lined up in Dallas next month. We can take it from there.”

“We can spend Christmas somewhere warm.” Freddy counters. Getting the fuck ahead of himself. What the fuck is Christmas but months away? And it ain’t like LA gets all that cold in the winter. 

Larry laughs. “I dunno nothing about Christmas. Too Jewish for that shit, Ma never let Jesus in the house. But if you wanna hit up South America for it I ain’t complaining.” 

Christmas on the beach, with a bounty on his head. Freddy smiles at the stars and compartmentalises like the method acting, undercover cop genius he is. Brando has nothing on him. He’s going to act his way out of the good graces of the law and into a life of crime and there ain't nothing that's gonna bring him down. Hell, right about now he could take a bullet to the gut and still smile about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have


End file.
